Kiss Chase
by PrincessTiannah
Summary: In which Rumplestiltskin is always where he is needed, even if he doesn't understand the need. Trigger warnings: Passing mention of past non-consensual experiences. Reviews always gratefully received.


_A/N: Set in Juju0268's universe (Should I Stay or Should I Go?), thanks for letting me borrow xx_

What made it so frustrating, is that she had grown up in these woods, thought she knew them like the back of her hand. The forest seemed the obvious escape route when she heard news of the Queen's deception, for she had no doubt who was to blame here. Now she was lost, seemingly running around in circles for hours and everything looked the same. She found herself wishing for some paint or chalk to mark the trees so she could assure herself she wasn't going mad.

She sat down on a fallen trunk, that looked suspiciously familiar, and dug around in her bag for her canteen and an oat cake, hurriedly swiped from the kitchens. Things had been fine until last month when the 'Queen' had shown up, then her world had turned upside down. Her usually loving, attentive father had all but forgotten about her, lavishing all his attention and the kingdom's wealth on the widowed harpy and announcing her engagement to the brutish knight Gaston, without a thought for her feelings or opinion on the matter. Then yesterday evening, the body of her betrothed had been found in the stables, trampled by a horse and with a stab wound to his chest. The bloody hoof prints had been followed back to her beloved mare and she had found herself on the run after her proclamations of innocence were refuted by the piling evidence against her.

She had shed no tears for Gaston, while she would never have killed him herself, the whole kingdom knew he was aggressive and cruel. She had comforted more than one maid who had been unceremoniously deflowered by the brute, yet had still been shocked to silence when he had forced her face against the wall and taken her virtue on the night their engagement had been announced. It wasn't the only pain and humiliation she had suffered at his hands over the past few weeks and the thought of his hands on her soft skin, his slimy tongue in her mouth and oh Gods. Belle leant over and vomited into the bushes, she was ruined. True the bruises would fade, physically she would return to her unblemished self, but the emotional damage he had done would never be erased.

As a girl, Belle had dreamed of falling in love, finding a husband who loved her for who she was, happy with her quirks and mannerisms and not constantly aiming to change her. She thought herself the luckiest girl in the realm when her father had agreed that love was worth waiting for, worth chasing. All that had changed when the black widow had arrived and stolen him, bewitching him and compelling him to sell his precious daughter to the highest bidder. Now Belle couldn't imagine finding love, couldn't imagine wanting to be with any man. Any experience she might ever have in the future would forever be tainted by her past. She swilled her mouth out and shoved the canteen and half eaten oat cake away in her bag, staring into space in an effort to pull her thoughts back to the problem on hand.

"Lost are we?" The voice grates in her head like toothache and she spins to find the speaker.

"Rumplestiltskin!" She snarls. "I don't remember calling you." Every noble in the land knows of Rumplestiltskin, and the unlucky ones have dealt with him. Always there with a deal, always there to collect, never there to help.

"I'm always where I'm needed, Dearie." He trills with a grin and a twist of his hands, like he's just completed some impressive magic trick, which technically he has.

She snorts. "I don't need your help. I'll be fine." She has an inkling that this isn't the case, but either way, she can't afford his help, so puts on her brave face.

"No, I don't think so." He giggles. "This is the _infinite_ forest."

Well that solves that mystery. The infinite forest, the queen must have transported her here, explains where the guard disappeared to and why she is so lost. She wonders how infinite 'infinite' is. Is there any chance?

"Infinite?" She queries. "Is there any way out?"

"Well, there's my way." He smirks at her. "For a price."

She shoulders her bag again and sets off walking. Probably, in all likelihood, a pointless move, but she was never one to sit still. By the third time she passes him, she can't stop the tears trickling down her cheeks. She really isn't a crier, crying never solved anything, but if she can't get out of the forest, if she dies here, how can she save her father and their kingdom from the evil leech who has assumed the throne in her father's place?

He jumps from his tree and follows her for a circuit, two steps behind and slightly to the left, like a well trained servant. "Whenever you're ready, Dearie." He sounds so reasonable that she stops and turns to him.

"You'll help me?" She is cautious, just a question, no promises. He nods. "And at what price?" The question she knows she shouldn't voice, the question that proves her interest.

"Ahh, the price." He walks around her, appraising her like a horse for sale and she wonders if he really can read minds and desires, as the legends state. "Lets say … a kiss!" He puckers his lips and blows noisy kisses in the air to taunt her.

She stands stock still, thoughts buzzing through her head. A kiss? A small price to pay for most, but her stomach still roils at the thought of bruising hands on her arms, demanding lips against hers, an ale pickled tongue forcing its way into her mouth. A kiss, so simple a thing, though why he would want one is beyond Belle's imaginings.

"Ahh well." She thinks he sounds disappointed. "To kiss a monster or to perish in a magical forest? Apparently … an easy decision." His flamboyancy is diminished, his tone slightly flatter. "Such a waste!" He gives her a bow and a wave and walks off backwards into the trees.

"No! Wait!" She calls. "It isn't … it isn't that."

He spins on his heel to face her. "It isn't _what_, Dearie?"

"It isn't you." She frowns. "It's me."

"Oh Goody!" He claps his hands and bounces. "THAT all old cliché!"

"I just … It's just … ummm." She shakes her head and sits down on a very familiar log. "Have had some b … unpleasant … ummm ...experiences." She pulls the oatcake out of her bag again and breaks it in half, offering a piece up to him. "It's a big deal to me." She confesses quietly.

He stares at her, her arm out, hand full of oatcake, offering to share, with him? She is lost in the infinite forest and she is prepared to share her meagre rations, strange girl. He shakes his head at the offer, after all, she is probably going to need it to extend her pointless existence here. He sits down next to her as she stows the food away again. She doesn't flinch from him, just picks at her meal and stares ahead.

"It's just a kiss." He states simply, shrugging. "Not asking to take your virtue." And suddenly he is wondering why he is being so lenient, a kiss is really nothing, hardly covers the cost, and why the hell does he care so much? Why is he still here?

And then the beautiful brunette breaks. Her crying isn't pretty or delicate, she sobs and wails and take great gulps of air. A desperate soul indeed, so he stays by her side, watching and finally handing her a magical handkerchief when the noise dies down. She looks at him, embarrassed and cleans up her face as best she can.

"Would rather have saved it for you, than given it to the monster who took it." She whispers, building up her courage. Do the brave thing, Belle and bravery will follow. She fists her hands and faces him. "Take your kiss." She orders. "Then I can get on with saving my father and my kingdom." Her nails dig into her palms as she closes her eyes, body tense, mind shut down, just waiting and waiting and …

"Another time!" He breaths in her ear and she opens her eyes to find herself at the edge of the forest, alone.

* * *

Weeks pass by and, with the help of Snow White, she achieves the impossible and her black hearted majesty is persuaded to move on, leaving Maurice a devastated, broken man. The enchantments the queen had put him under now fighting against the brave man he used to be. Belle is sure that, in time, her father will re-emerge and they can begin to rebuild their relationship. In the meantime, she sits as his regency, slowly repairing the damage the weeks of the Queen's presence had caused.

The first few days after meeting with Rumplestiltskin in the forest, she had been so full of dreadful anticipation it was hard to concentrate, but, as time went on, she found herself going hours, sometimes days, without thinking of her deal. She no longer feared him appearing, not because she thought he wouldn't, no he always kept his deals, but because he had been kind to her, patient with her, she wanted to thank him. Now she could offer him more than a kiss, but if a kiss was what he still wanted, she could do that.

* * *

For his part, Rumplestiltskin was unnerved, maybe he was sick. He gave her what she wanted and didn't claim his price, and he couldn't work out why. Since he had left her at the edge of the tree line, he had been magically watching her from time to time. She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt, but she was also fierce and brave and kind. She had gained the help of the young Snow White, who had herself only recently claimed her kingdom back from the wicked witch, and together they managed to parcel the leech off to Midas. He was almost impressed. Over time, he had watched the tension fall from her as she settled into her role as regent and saviour. But, watching was all well and good, he had a price to claim, and he would do it tonight.

He surprises her at dusk, in the castle rose garden and is a little disappointed when she merely gasps managing to hold in her scream of fear.

"My Lady!" He sniggers sweeping her a rather over dramatic bow. "I see your circumstances are much improved from our previous … encounter."

She giggles dropping into a deep and elegant curtsey. "My Knight! Here to claim your price at last? I all but thought you had forgotten about me."

He snorts derisively. "I. Am. No. One's. Knight." He bites out. "And I **never** forget." He steps forward, hands on her upper arms to pull her to him, holding her gently but firmly in his lean but powerful arms, close but keeping their bodies apart. He watches her face closely for the familiar expression of disgust, the one that will help him forget all about this warrior lady and her plump pink lips. Their lips are so close he can feel her warm breath, their noses almost touching and when he still sees no look of fear or hate or disgust he snarls at her. She brushes her lips against his, pulling slightly back and turning to whisper against his cheek.

"You rescued me, you are **my** knight."

"But, My Lady." He whispers back, tapping her cheeks with the pads of his long clawed fingers, "I have no honour and no loyalty to any but myself." He pulls her lips back to his and holds her close, expecting a fight, when none comes he tries pushing his luck, flicking her lower lip with his tongue, nearly pulling away when she opens to him.

Belle is lost. Never had she expected to enjoy being held and kissed, especially not this kiss, this payment kiss with The Dark One. He holds her face so gently, keeps her close but she knows if she pulled away, he wouldn't resist. His kiss is soft, delicate, waiting for her to allow him entrance to her mouth and swirling his tongue with hers so slowly and carefully. He doesn't try to deepen the kiss or move his hands or force her into anything. She feels light headed, sighing into his mouth and stumbling forward. Immediately, his lips and fingers leave her face, strong hands landing on her shoulders to steady her even as she whimpers at the loss of his warm mouth on hers.

He looks down at her, waiting to be pushed away, for her to run in disgust and is caught off guard when the beautiful creature pushes closer, raising up on her toes to meet his lips again with hers. He holds her at arms length, her flushed cheeks and reddened lips sending a jolt of lust deep inside of him.

"Never pay more than you need to, Dearie!" He whispers, wondering vaguely if his voice has ever sounded this deep and lusty before. He hops backwards, away from her and her precious pouting lips. With a wink and a bow he is gone, leaving nothing but a frustrated young lady and a wisp of purple smoke.

* * *

Five weeks pass. Warm summer days and balmy evenings have been replaced with cold winds and driving rain. Much farmland has been destroyed by floods, crops left unharvested and cattle drowned. Belle is suddenly faced with a kingdom on the brink of famine and chaos, more and more of her people crowding into the castle walls after losing their homes and possessions to the sudden viciousness of mother nature. Maurice shows little improvement and Belle is beginning to wonder if he ever will. He can feed and clothe himself, hold meaningless conversations and sit in his throne, a fake ruler, a puppet for the people to look up to while his daughter and the council try to keep the truth from their people.

The council talk about requesting aid from the nearby kingdoms, but they all know that they have nothing to offer for such aid and any request for help is likely to be met by an army and a demand to surrender. Belle sits at her fathers side, listening to the mumbles of the worried council, idly wondering if Rumplestiltskin would like another kiss, she knows that she would. Could she survive another deal with him? Surely he would want more from her now, a kiss isn't really a fair price to save her people from starvation. Well, it wouldn't hurt to ask, would it?

He feels the magic tug and blinks in surprise when he senses where it comes from. He has been deliberately not thinking of the girl since their kiss - no not a kiss, since she paid her price. He has refused to scry for her or look in any magic mirrors or hide and watch her at her castle. He is too old for infatuation and too monstrous for love. Yet, here she is, calling him and his heart can't help but beat a little faster.

He doesn't go to her straight away, finishing spinning his basket of straw first before shimmering away to gather intelligence before coming face to face with her. It never hurt to be prepared. He is shocked by the difference in her lands from his last visit. A few weeks back her kingdom was healthy, poor after their visit from the black lady, but easily able to survive and now, now all he sees is devastation. Mudland and swamps where farmlands and buildings had stood, raging brown rivers which had previously been blue and gurgling streams. He sends out his senses for signs of magic, but it seems that this was all an unfortunate quirk of weather. As he nears the castle, desperation rings in his ears. Sick and starving people crammed in too tight a space. The stench is sickening, the noise almost unbearable and the desperation sweet and cloying.

He puts off his visit to Belle for a few hours, playing with some of the desperate souls in the courtyard. It never ceases to amaze him the trinkets that some peasants have hold of. He cures a first born son in exchange for Cupid's bow, the family having no idea of the weapon's heraldry. He rescues an old lady from the bottom of a well for a strand of her hair, for she is the last descendant of the legendary Hercules. His best deal of the afternoon gains him an Elven dagger for helping a disgraced guard escape the dungeon. Finally, he can procrastinate no more and he appears before a tired, red eyed Belle, alone in the council chambers, her head resting on her arms against the table.

"You were wanting another kiss, Dearie?" He teases.

Her head snaps up and she muffles a shriek. Blushing and flustered she stammers incoherently for a moment before finding her voice. "I … I … Yes, I mean NO, no. I. Grrr! I need help."

"With anything in particular, Dearie?" He trills, raising an eyebrow, delighting in taunting her.

She rubs her eyes and stands, walking towards the windows. "My kingdom is approaching chaos, I have no allies to call upon and my father's condition is … hmmm, irrelevant." She shakes her head. "Can you save my kingdom from ruin and starvation?"

"I can do anything, my dear … for a price!" He giggles, high pitched and grating. "What are you willing to give me this time for my aid? No one calls me without a deal in mind."

She gazes out of the window, trying not to see the suffering or despair of the crowded courtyard. "What could you possibly want?" She muses. "You have little need for gems and gold. A mighty steed has small worth when magic is your travelling companion. Kisses are all well and good for rescuing silly girls from forests, but not, I think, for rescuing kingdoms from ruin. As you are already aware, a true monster has already stolen my greatest gift and I would ask no other to pay this price. So tell me, Rumplestiltskin, what does a desperate lady offer a man who needs nothing?"

He is staring at her in surprise. Has anyone else ever given thought to what they might offer for his aid? She isn't only beautiful, but smart and brave, calling on him when she knew she had nothing to offer. She is amazing, standing there, awaiting his judgement calmly and he just knew, she would give careful consideration to any deal he put before her. He regains control of himself, strolling around the room, pretending to think of a deal worthy of his time and magic. He tuts and ahhs and giggles as he tries to sort his thoughts and keep his eyes from her. He would take her to his bed, maiden or no, but he could not face the thought of forcing her hand to that. The thought of her tears, her loathing, her pain – infatuation, it seems, is a dangerous condition, maybe he has a potion for that. She is correct, a kiss does not seem enough, yet it is all he wants.

He comes up behind her, sweeping her hair over one shoulder, placing his hands at her waist as he breaths against her exposed neck. She stiffens for an instant, but relaxes again before he can release her.

"Don't underestimate your kisses, my dear." He breaths against the juncture of her shoulder. "They are a precious commodity."

She leans back against him, craning her neck so her cheek rests against his. "So." She whispers, her eyes looking up at his. "A kiss to restore my kingdom?"

He pulls away, feeling a strange stirring in his chest at the look in her eyes, and wags his finger at her. "Nuh uh!" He admonishes, quickly registering her crestfallen look. "To save your kingdom will cost you … _two_ kisses." He is fast to step forward and claim her lips in a soft, chase kiss, not even begging entry for his tongue. With a small tug on her lower lip, he is gone. She places her finger tips to her tingling lips and hears his ghostly voice. "I'll be back for the other one soon."

He isn't subtle in his work and he knows he will pay the price for his flamboyance, but her kisses make him so happy, being near her makes him so happy. He briefly wonders if there is a way he could keep her at his side forever.

But nightfall, rivers have retreated back into healthy streams, golden crops sway in the breeze and fattened cattle munch on lush green grass. People wake the next morning back in homes they thought lost with warm porridge on their tables. Belle wonders how she is going to explain this, but still can't keep the smile off her face nor the bounce from her step. She describes it as a miracle, a blessing for her people and tries to hold down her blush, refusing to discuss the good fortune further.

Over the next few days everyone is pressed into service, harvesting and collecting grain. Even Belle lends a hand with counting and recording. A happy peace is settled on the land and the joy is infectious. Her father had even smiled at her that morning, for the first time since the dreadful Regina had left. Belle sits on the window seat in the library, half heartedly reading a book about the preservation and storage of supplies, but really thinking about Rumplestiltskin and when he would return for his kiss and whether it would be last she had. Maybe she could deal again? Maybe she was pushing her luck already?

He watches her from the shadows, licking his lips as her fingers trail over hers. He wants his kiss now, but he doesn't want it to be over. Could he offer her something else in exchange for another kiss? People usually came to him with deals, but it would fine for him to suggest something she needed. That wouldn't be too obvious, would it? No, he would wait for his kiss, maybe tomorrow he would be brave enough to kiss her goodbye.

* * *

He tried three potions to get her off his mind, spent a night with a stupid shepherdess in trade for riches (a terrible idea and an unsatisfying night) and drank himself through a good bottle of mead. Nothing helped, he still returned to watch her every evening, still too much a coward to claim his final kiss.

After seven days and a glass of something the tavern keeper called Apple Fire, he materialises before her in the library, a rose clasped between his fingers. She smiles sweetly at him as he bows deeply to her, offering the flower with a 'My Lady.'

She reaches for the rose, her hand stopping mid air. "And what will it cost me?" She asks, so clever, so quick.

"T'is but a gift, Dearie, the cost is nothing more than your smile." What was in that drink? She ignores the rose, pushing forward against his chest. Her lips as eager as his to find relief from the expectant tingling.

The kiss starts slow, his arms circling her waist as his tongue begs her lips to open to him, she complies with a soft moan, her tongue batting against his, slipping into his warm mouth and seeking out the last traces of the fire drink. When she wraps her arms around his neck he nearly loses control, pulling her tighter, one hand winding in her hair, slanting her head a little so he can take control of the kiss, his tongue searching for a spot to make her moan again. And when he hits that spot he feels like his body is on fire, he needs to stop this or he will never let her go. He pulls back, his body screaming in defiance, leaving soft little kisses on her lips. They look at each other, lush reflected in their eyes, breathing hard.

He offers her the rose again. This time she accepts it with a small curtsey, her legs a little wobbly. "Everything has a cost." She says sadly, smoothing down her skirts. When she looks up again, he is gone and she can't help the tear that slips silently down her cheek.

She sleeps badly, tossing and turning all night, finally giving up rising at dawn. She walks over to her dressing table, seating herself to attend to her bird nest hair and spies a golden chain hanging from her mirror, she reaches to touch it and gasps at the beautiful crystal rose attached to it. She is sure it wasn't there last night, what suitor bribed her maid to sneak in a leave so beautiful a gift? She eases the necklace into her palm, she can't wear it until she knows who it is from, she cannot to send out the wrong message, but she can admire its beauty in her own quiet chambers. She traces a finger softly over the crystal, nearly dropping it when she hears his voice. He is standing right behind her, reaching over her to spin her mirror to the wall.

"Everything has a cost, my dear." He throws her words back to her. "This will cost you a kiss."

She smiles as he pecks her cheek before disappearing. She puts on the necklace, hiding it beneath a high collared gown. She finds herself absent mindedly playing with it throughout the day, always bringing a smile to her face when she realises what she is doing.

Time moves on, the season changes yet every morning she finds a gift. Flowers, jewellery, ribbons, once or twice a book, and every morning he claims a kiss. Sometimes a quick peck on the cheek, sometimes a tantalising brush of lips on lips and once a heady passionate meeting of lips and tongues that left her feeling faint. He stays for longer and longer each morning, barely getting away before her maid arrives to dress her. They discuss books and politics, he tells her stories of his travels and she shares gossip from the nearby lands, even telling him a few tales she has heard of his dastardly deeds.

She doesn't know why he is playing with her, she knows this cannot end well, but she enjoys it for the moment. Enjoys the romance she never had with Gaston, enjoys the nervous expectation before his kisses, enjoys the feeling of being cherished, real or not. She needs this, needs proof that there is still happiness to found with a man, still something to hope for. Her father has ceased to improve and the council have been pushing her to find a husband who can take over the rule of the land. This is her duty, this is what she was born to do, raised to do, as all noble women.

The next morning she does not let her eyes linger on her gift, does not reach out to let her fingers caress the single white rose. When she feels him at her side she stands and moves away from him.

"My Lady." He sounds hurt, confused, not a natural state for him at all. "You are displeased with your gift?" He hasn't moved, just watches her from across the room.

"No, no!" She assures. "I .. its lovely. Its just … We must stop this." She struggles to go on, to say the words she knows she must. Not that she worries it will hurt him, but she knows it will hurt her, this may be just a game to him, but she realises she is in far deeper than she knew. Finding a husband is bad enough, but her heart aches at the thought of seeing Rumplestiltskin no more, never again feeling his lips against hers. "My father's condition does not improve and the council push me to marry. I need a husband to rule these lands." Her voice catches and she fights a losing battle against the tears welling in her eyes. He doesn't move, just stares at her.

"Forgive a foolish girl her tears, My Knight." She smiles up at him and he wonders if he might crack. "You have shown me hope, to be romanced … I … I mean, after Gaston, I feared all men were the same and you ... you, just thank you." She wipes furiously at her eyes, choking down a sob. "I will miss you, dear Rumplestiltskin, gifts or no, I will miss our times together." With this she turns to the wall, waiting for him to whisk out of her life again the way he whisked in and so she jumps when he places a hand on her shoulder, turning her to him.

"What if I could … restore him, like I restored your farmland?" He asks hesitantly. He knows he _could_ do it, the Queen's magic is no match for his own, but he also knows it could be difficult, time intensive work. Time he would be immersed in the problem, time he would be vulnerable.

She looks up at him, tear filled eyes bright and hopeful. "You could do that?"

"I believe I told you before, Dearie, **I **can do _anything!_" He smirks at her, using his thumbs to gently push her tears away. "But!" He holds up a finger, marking his point. "This would cost more than kiss. Tricksy, intricate work breaking enchantments" His sing songy mocking voice is back. He knows what he wants to ask for, knows she won't accept. He hates himself for saying the words anyway. "This time, I want a bride." Not the most romantic of proposals, he wishes it could be another way. This is her choice, he could break the enchantment on her father and spirit her away as his bride, or he could leave her alone to find a husband, a good man she could raise children with, rule beside. His face falls naturally into his mask of indifference as she pushes gently away from him and he wonders if she can hear his heart shattering.

"A bride?" She repeats. "But who? I couldn't, I wouldn't ask … no, not even for my father, I would never tie an unwilling bride to any man."

He laughs at her, high and sharp and mocking. "Oh no, Dearie. I don't want any old bride. I want you." He points a long elegant finger at her, making sure she has no misunderstandings.

"Oh!" She blushes, hiding a smile behind her hand. "I have to think," She says quietly, "I have to … I have questions for the council." He bows to her and vanishes as her maid enters the room.

* * *

It is two days before she calls him back. The discussion with the council long and arduous. Would they accept her father as ruler again if she could break the spell? Could they find him a wife to bear him sons? She knew her father wasn't so old, getting a new wife with child should not be a problem for him, even though it made her blush and her skin crawl a little, no, her father would never treat a woman like that, he would be tender and kind, she could never see him as brutal and cold. He had been alone too long, maybe that was why he fell for the dubious charms of the witch queen.

The day she calls him back she wears the white rose, pinned to her breast, the gift she didn't pay for yet. The council were hard to reason with, the cost they said was too high, she was too precious to sacrifice. But she was not asking their permission, no, she never doubted what she would do, just needed to ensure she was leaving behind a stable situation for her kingdom. Of course, the idea terrified her for a myriad of reasons, but this was a decision she was happy to be making for herself. It was simply a bonus that it benefited her father and their kingdom.

He saunters through the council chamber doors, outwardly at ease despite his mind whirling and swirling with worry and apprehension. He snarls at the seated council and smirks when one or two recoil in fear, he keeps his eyes from Belle until he stands in the centre of the room. Looking up at her and bearing his teeth. No, he will not make it easy for her to reject him, to humiliate him when he was only trying to help. He spots the rose on her dress and points at it slowly.

"You. Did. Not. Pay. For that!" He accuses. He turns to her father, his glassy eyes staring into space. "Oh, if it isn't dear Papa, he must be so proud my dear." He all but growls at her.

"Don't!" Her voice is steel, her eyes cold and sad. "Don't make me regret this so soon." She pleads quietly. His eyes meet hers and she gestures to the rose. "Consider it a gift, to your bride?" She asks meekly, trying not to be afraid of this side of the man she is falling in love with.

"Out!" He snaps, waving a dismissive hand at the council who, at a nod from Belle, file slowly from the room, leading a slow and silent Maurice. "We have a deal?" He queries, keeping the tremors from his voice. "Your hand in marriage for breaking the enchantment on your father?"

She nods, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, unable to meet his eyes.

"You have to say the words, Dearie." He presses.

She takes a deep breath, "I will be your bride." She states, she knows what happens to brides, on their wedding nights, she can't quite help but fear that. But she would have faced that either way, with Rumplestiltskin or whomever the council deemed to marry her off too. He had been so gentle with his kisses and she enjoyed kissing him so much, maybe, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it wouldn't break her. And, if nothing else, at least she liked him, knew him a little. He wasn't a stranger taking her for her lands.

He picks up on her fear, it isn't the way he wanted this to go, but he wants her by his side, she is all he can think of. He will take her, fear and all and hope that in time he can make it right with her, shower her with gifts, never touch her again if that is what she wants, so long as he can talk with her and look at her, every day, every hour, forever. He could make do with that and be happy, it was far more than an old monster deserved.

"Its forever, Dearie." She needs to understand this. And she nods, tears in her eyes. He steps to her side, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. "The deal is struck." He hates himself for making her so sad.

Maurice and Rumplestiltskin are quickly shut into the old man's study and he begins picking the spell apart. It isn't as complex as he feared, the Queen is sloppy and has little finesse with anything other than her outfits.

A priest is called to complete the necessary marriage rituals and Belle is rushed away to be dressed and comforted.

He gives her time to reunite with her father, to fill him in on the terms of his 'release'. Gives her and her maid time to dress her up, time to pack away her favourite things to take to her new castle. He wanders the castle grounds, snarling and threatening people who come too close. He pays the priest a visit and makes him aware of the consequences of refusing to officiate the wedding, persuading him and bribing him to change certain parts of the wording, insuring Belle is his forever, whether or not they consummate the marriage. When dusk falls he is keen to have the whole thing over and done with.

He politely knocks at her door, making the maid bite back a scream and bolt when she opens it to him. He walks in quietly, watching his bride unawares. She is dressed in a pale gold gown, the crystal rose at her throat. Her hair is piled on her head and she looks so stunning he forgets to breathe. He looks down at his clothes and scowls, quickly magicking himself an outfit fitting for a prince. Soft tan leather trousers, a shirt the same gold as her dress and a jacket the colour of dried blood. She turns, sensing the magic and offers him a weak smile.

"My Lady!" He moves to stand close at her back and whispers in her ear. "You look beautiful." Her eyes are still so full of fear, but her lips curve into a smile just for him. He magics a blood red rose and with one hand on her shoulder, holding her gently against his chest, he offers her the small gift, pressing a kiss full of reverence and soft promise on her cheek when she accepts it.

"Thank you, my Knight, you look most dashing your self." She utters, taking his arm. "Shall we?" She gestures the door.

"Belle?" He whispers, and she starts, she doesn't think he has ever used her name before. "You have nothing to fear. I will do you no harm."

She nods curtly and urges him forward. He may mean those words so truly, but he doesn't know, how could he know how ruined she is?

* * *

The service is fast. No flowers, no well wishers, no party. Just a few words, a knotted ribbon, a tearful goodbye to her father and the cloying aroma of magic before Belle finds herself in the entrance hall of her new home, the Dark Castle.

"Welcome home, Lady Belle." His voice is soft and low. "It is late, a tour, some dinner or straight to bed?" He offers.

She knows she could not stomach food and she feels too tired and worn for a tour, yet she can't bring herself to voice the words that will bring him to her bed. She pales as the fear and tears take over. She collapses down on herself, falling rather gracefully to the floor before he has chance to steady her. In less than a heartbeat he has her swept up in his arms in a move worthy of any knight, though he would later deny it.

He stands a moment, hesitating, before striding through a pair of doors into a large, homely room. The room is dominated by a wood dining table, large enough to easily seat 16, though he never has company. In the far corner is a large spinning wheel and against one wall is a bright, crackling fire. He sits in an armchair at the fire side and arranges his weeping bride on his lap, pulling a glass of apple fire from the air.

"Shhh, shush. I know, its been a trying day. I'm sorry." He hangs his head in shame, he should have, but he never envisioned this. He had run lots of scenarios regarding Belle through his head over the past couple of months, few of them had ended with her here in his castle and none with her as his bride. For all his confidence and swagger, he is at a loss.

"Drink this, Dearie. It will help." She doesn't even look at what he gives her, just knocks it back, gasping and choking when it burns down her throat.

She is glad to still feel something. She holds out the glass, hoping for another go, but he shakes his head at her, like a parent admonishing a child and plucks the glass from her fingers. He dries her eyes with careful pats and a silk handkerchief.

"Belle, I …" He sighs, defeated by her tears. "I'll show you to your room. Tomorrow we can talk." He stands, slowly depositing her on her feet and walking to the doors, opening them with a flick of his hand. "Come on then, Dearie!" He calls when he notices that she hasn't moved. "Do you need help?" There is no mockery to his tone now, just weariness.

She shakes her head slightly and follows a few paces behind him as he sweeps up the staircase to the second landing, stopping at the third door on the right and pushing it open for her.

"Goodnight, Belle." He whispers before spinning on his heel and stalking away, not even waiting to see if she would offer thanks.

Belle is left stunned, confused, grateful but slightly insulted. It is their wedding night, he is supposed to take her, willing or not and yet he leaves her alone, he doesn't want her. This wasn't what she envisaged at all. Sure, she was full of fear, but she wouldn't have refused him, couldn't have, not after what he had done for her. With nothing else to do she walks into the room he showed her to. The room is beautiful, decorated in muted blues and flat golds. A stunning, embroidered quilt adorns a four posted bed dominating the room. The quilt is storm cloud grey, stitched with silver thread in intricate swirling patterns matching the canopy and curtains of the bed. A roaring fire blazes at one wall, a sheepskin rug laid in front flanked by two high backed arm chairs. A large, intimidating wardrobe takes up almost a whole wall and a little investigation finds a small wash room through a cleverly concealed door.

Belle barely registers the extravagance of the room, her eyes still blurred with tears, her head too clouded with confusion and half completed thoughts. She slips off her shoes and falls to the bed, crying herself to sleep amid the pillows, the candles burning down and the fire dying in the grate, eventually leaving her wrapped in shadows and the golden silk of her gown.

While Belle cries herself to sleep in dimming light, Rumplestiltskin drinks, shut away in his tower cursing his weakness, his need for having her in his life, cursing himself for stealing her away from her home, her family, her friends, her life. Cursing himself for wanting her, her touch, her kisses, wanting more than she could give, monster or no, he would never take that which was not freely given. He'll give her time, show her kindness, and hope that they can rebuild the companionship they had before his need for her took over.

* * *

Morning breaks over The Dark Castle, the weak dawn sun creeping slowly across the grounds bathing the castle in gold and kissing away the dew. No one sees the beautiful sight of the sun glinting off the lake, the rising of the sun completely missed by the castle's occupants.

It is well passed mid morning when knocking wakes a bedraggled Belle. She needs no mirror to know what a mess she must look, which is a good job, because no mirror is provided. She stands on shaky legs and stumbles to the small dressing table, sinking to the stool as she uses her hands to flatten the creases out of her gown. There would be no denying she slept in the damn thing, but it makes her feel better. She is starting to pluck the pins out of the bird nest her hair has become when he knocks again.

"Belle, Dearie, I brought tea." His voice is pleading, hopeful, because who could turn down tea? She continues to wrangle with her hair, unsure of how to speak with him, her husband, who is today a stranger, when last week he was a friend.

"I like tea." She volunteers, hoping he takes it as an invitation to enter. She half turns, hands in her hair, as he cautiously peeks through the doorway, not actually entering the room until she throws him a weak smile. He looks immaculate, as always and she flushes at her less than acceptable appearance.

He gently places the tea tray on her dresser and moves to stand behind her, his elegant long fingers deftly finding and removing the pins and grips from her tresses. He cards his fingers through the length of her hair and lightly shakes it to find any hidden pins, before quietly pouring her tea. She notices the red rose on the tea tray as he claims a cup for himself. He watches intently as her fingers play on the stem, before picking up the delicate bloom.

"You'd like a kiss for this, husband? Or has the price changed?" She points the flower in his direction and his hands tremble so much the tea cup rattles in its saucer.

"You are my wife." His voice is as shaky as his hands and he places the cup and saucer back on the silver tray before looking at her seriously. "There is no more price for you to pay, you have paid enough." His voice has dropped to a whisper, his eyes downcast.

She rises gracefully from her stool and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Let me make myself presentable and you can show me around." She speaks softly, against his cheek. "Please?" She knows there is more to be said, he needs to know she wants to be here, with him, but she feels too delicate to attempt the words, deciding to leave them unsaid rather than muddle them.

He nods, picking up the cups and tray and leaving the room, slightly happier than when he walked in. She gave him a kiss, a kiss of free will, not a price, because he made it clear that there was no price to pay, didn't he?

* * *

She finds him an hour later sitting at his wheel idly spinning it, there is no straw, no gold, just him and the wheel and the pleasure in its hypnotising movement. She is dressed simply in a dark blue dress, chosen because it matches his shirt, her still damp hair cascading down her back. In her hand she is holding the rose. She curtseys as he turns to her, a smile on her face.

"I was hoping you might have a vase, husband." Her voice is light, her smile just for him.

He waves his hand at the back wall, and she gasps at the sheer amount of trophies crammed into the display cases. It could take her a while to find what she wants. She lays the rose on the dining table with a sigh and walks into his personal space, placing her hand on his arm.

"My tour?" She looks up at him hopefully.

He removes her hand from his arm, smiling coyly at their matching outfits and leaves her standing at the wheel while he fetches her a vase.

"It may look like chaos, my dear." He teases. "But, I assure you, I know where everything is. Shall we?" He offers, holding out his arm.

She wants him to know she is happy with this arrangement, so instead of placing her hand on his arm, she links her arm with his, holding herself close to him. "Lets!" She agrees, giving his arm a squeeze when he looks at her, perplexed.

It starts off a little awkward, but within minutes they are sweeping through the castle, talking and laughing like they were still sat in her rooms at her father's castle. She admonishes him for all the dust and he magicks her a duster, earning a playful smack on the arm. He makes her shriek by disappearing and abandoning her in the dungeons, his laughter quickly turning to caresses of comfort when he sees how truly frightened she is. He offers apologies by way of whisking them to a walled garden. The garden is small and roses climb the walls and archways, a fountain stands in one corner, water sprouting from an intricate bouquet of roses at its centre. The middle of the garden boasts a small pavilion, roses twining up its twisted iron walls. Belle gasps at its beauty, the multi coloured flowers filling the air with fragrance and happiness. He leads her to the pavilion, a cry of joy escaping her lips when she sees the picnic set up. She hadn't realised how hungry she was and wastes no time in sinking to her knees and examining the wares on display. He giggles at her enthusiasm and pours them light elderflower wine, while she sets out plates and napkins. They resume their easy conversation as they dine, enjoying the food, the flowers and each other's company.

When they finish eating, he clears the picnic with a wave of his hand, leaving them sitting atop a spotless green blanket. She giggles at the useful trick.

"Thank you!" She says, her eyes glowing with affection. "That was delicious and romantic." She smiles as a small sigh escapes her lips and he can't help himself. He leans forward, sliding a hand behind her neck, under her hair and pulls her lips to his. He means it to be soft and gentle, a kiss of affection and nothing more, but she parts her lips for him, allowing his eager tongue entrance while she wraps her arms about his neck, sliding herself closer to him. When his tongue glides across the roof of her mouth, she tangles her fingers in his hair and he forgets to be slow and careful. He grips her tighter as he lowers them on the blanket, his body half over hers, pressed closer than ever before. Her breath hitches and he drags his lips away from hers, softly kissing across her face, down her throat. Her eyes are closed, her breathing fast and shallow and he can feel her hands in fists at his back. He knows he has to stop, just one more kiss, one more taste.

"Belle!" He whispers reassuringly. "Relax, I would never, I could never …" He kisses across the swell of her breasts, following the hem of her gown. "I will never take more than you freely offer. Just tell me to stop and I **will** stop. I am not that kind of monster." One hand strokes her hair, softly, like he is petting an upset child and when he raises his head from her tantalising skin her cornflower blue eyes are clear and soft.

She wants this, she can feel the fear, but she can also feel the want. The want she never expected to experience. He is looking at her, waiting for her, making promises, kissing her so softly, so reverently. And he is her husband, he cherishes her, he brings her gifts, he listens to her, he cares what she says. This cannot be wrong, this she can give him, at least she can try. She cards her hands into his hair and pulls him down to her lips, kissing him fiercely, pouring all she feels for him into the kiss, giving him her fear so he can dilute it with his need.

When she pulls away from him, lightly pushing on his shoulders, they stare at each other, breathing in ragged pants. She leans up to him, her lips brushing his ear.

"You're no kind of monster! You're my husband, my knight."


End file.
